Insecticon Fodder
The collection of adjoined warehouses were abuzz with activity. In some ways, this is meant as a metaphor, as workers move about while their supervisors shout at them. In a more literal sense was the buzz of the insecticons contained within artificial environments meant to box their hives. Today their owner was coming for an inspection, and that meant everything had to be in order. And to help facilitate this presentation, an under manager thought it would be wise to put in a request for cleaning drones. The air is frantic and there is a lot of pressure. The drones are under constant supervision, which is unusual since most do not pay them much mind. But a few mechs were constantly following their different groups around as they tackled their tasks, and among them was a lot of pressure to perform flawlessly. But nothing is flawless. The little bots were spraying, wiping, sweeping, shining, moving and stacking in such fervour, egged on constantly by some less than colourful task masters. "We need to get this place ship-shop! Detour will be here any breem now!" One mech yells to one of the task masters. Getting this constant urging and berating, the yelled at mech then turns to the small cleaners. "Ya hear that? WORK FASTER! NO! Not there! You already cleaned there! Doesn't the left appendage know what the right is doing? I never seen such chaos! If you don't want me to report your as disorderly and undeserving of rations, GET IT TOGETHER! HEY! YOU! Stay away from that door. I know it's dusty, but that door is off limits. I'M WARNING YOU!" As frantic as the several dozen cleaning bots are with all the yelling, they're really quite used to it. It's probably due to just this part of their lives -- the constant backdrop of yelling from higher ups -- that they aren't running around like headless turbofoxes. They're really quite orderly about it all, if not just a little frantic. Sure, they're cleaning the same place multiple times, but there's only so much you can clean. Some stains just don't come out, no matter what kind of equipment you have. That, and they're not cleaning what they're told not to clean, no matter how tempting it is. That dusty door is given a wide berth by most of them. So many cleaning bots. So many. So many cleaning bots who know how to do their job and are proficient. But they are yelled at anyway because of the pecking order. And they are accused of things they haven't done because it makes some of the other workers feel better about themselves. While they clean, these workers are either organizing or re-organizing the area, hiding evidence of anything that might make them look bad, and prepping the hives. Beyond that door, the cleaning bots have heard very loud buzzing sounds, sometimes reaching a frequency that seems to exude agitation. Perhaps this hum is also what is grating on the already frayed nerves of the staff. "He's here! He's here! Detour's here! Quick, someone stall him in the office. Go over profit as slowly as possible. Make up ideas to pitch that he'll ignore! Get Voltamp to FLIRT if you have to! Wait, no, that'd make him try to leave the office faster. Have her stand in the hallway like a tramp so that he avoids it! GO ON! GET TO YOUR POSITIONS!" Meanwhile, there is a noticeable shudder near the dusty door. Alright, it's not that IT is really dusty, but since everywhere else has been cleaned, it just seems that way, for the door is used frequently, but only by those authorised to deal directly with insecticons. If any of the workers or supervisors would even ask one of the cleaning bots if they knew what an insecticon was, they would actually have no idea. What the buzzing was, they neither asked nor guessed. Beyond their station to question about such things. Though, as the door shudders and the buzzing keeps pitching, they get a little... Nervous. Twitchy. Which is leading to the cleaning bots acting as invisible as possible. Quiet, subdued, and hiding against walls. People tend to ignore them if they were quiet and still. Which means they're more likely to survive. And surviving is pretty good. With the workers all scrambling about to do the last few tasks needed to be finished, it is indeed easy for them to ignore the cleaners. Their job is almost done, and of course, there will be the optional feedback forms to fill out and send along with them. The end is in site, and this tension may finally come to an end. But that would be the boring conclusion, wouldn't it? What the cleaners don't know is that they may have just walked right into a living nightmare. That shuddering should have been attended to. But it wasn't. The buzzing gets louder, closer, more... hungry. There is a clatter on the other side of the wall, and the reinforced door seems to have been rammed against. This finally gets a worker's attention, but before he can reach the door, there is a horrid SPLAT noise, and in moments the wall beside the door dissolves, leaving an irregularly shaped hole. As soon as there is an opening, a flood of insecticons come swarming out. Three cleaners had been hugging the very same wall, away from the door. And perhaps that may have served them well in the past to keep themselves from harm. But not this time. Set upon by an insecticon, the small bot has no means of self defense when the buzzing monstrosity lands upon him, its thin, pointed legs wrapping around and digging small hooks into its armour, its mandibles working feverishly near its face, but not yet biting. It is almost a sort of foreplay before the insecticon begins to devour the cleaning bot alive. It starts by going for the largest piece - the chest, burring a hole through him with a mix of tearing and a dissolving liquid it excretes. And he isn't the only one reaching this fate. Other cleaners, and some of the workers, are besieged by the uniform hunger before the alarm could be sounded. Disposable caste or not, there is one thing that drives every living Cybertronian; basic survival instinct. Which is why, as three of their own are attacked, the rest decide that this is very much Not Business As Usual. Well, now there's a whole bunch of cleaning bots just RUNNING. Some try to hide under desks or in closets, but a good number just run for the exists, heedless or what supervisor may be yelling about what. For those who flee the area despite shouting cannot stop hearing the screaming of pain and horror that follows them. There are few supervisors that would bother about them, other than cursing and demanding that they keep from being under foot. Also, for those who flee, they have to outrun the lockdown that occurs as a result of the alarm being set off. Being as small as they are, though, some just might avoid being locked in and having their fate sealed with the rampaging insecticons. The sheer small size of the cleaning bots helps them more than it hinders. Doors sliding down? They MOVE, some shifting in to vehicle mode to try and make it out. Quite a few succeed. Some do not. One poor bot even gets caught under a door as it's closing and is crushed in the process. YX-939 was aiming for a door, but it came down long before he actually got there. Why didn't he change form? Those that did actually made it out! "COME ON." With a yelp of surprise, an arm grabs him and pulls him in to a storage closet; the door to THAT is shut immediately. Three other cleaning bots are in there; one of them pulled him in. Perhaps they feel safe. One can only hope none of these four bots hiding in a storage closet have over active imaginations, because she screams, crunching noises, and furious buzzing could certainly evoke some nightmarish images. Sometimes that buzzing comes closer, too close, only to fade into the background din. This isn't going along for too long before there is some shouting over the buzzing. These shouts do not sound like terrified or suffering mechs. The voices are authoritative, and perhaps, that might be reassuring. Perhaps it's just so common they don't think about it much. There seems to be a clatter out there and the sound of weapon fire. From the sharp bang of ballistics, to the roar of flamethrowers, to the crackling sound of energy discharge, all of these sounds reach into the poorly soundproofed closet. Finally.... silence. For a good few seconds, the cleaning bots don't dare come out of the closet. It might be quiet out there, but that could just mean that everyone was DEAD; they've seen movies! They found movies in the trash and watched them! They were well versed in all the horror concepts out there! It's a solid five minutes before any of them make a move. The closet door is squeeeeaked open. Just a bit. To peek out. Just as one is brave enough to peek out, they heard the angry stomping of feet. At least it isn't buzzing. Peering out, the would see someone's shadow cast against the corridor wall, stopping before coming into their narrow view. "What happened here!?" A gruff voice demands. Another voice can be heard further down the call, and it is extremely apprehensive. "I-I-I don't know! We were cleaning up for your arrival, and.... they just burst through the wall! We installed the reinforced doors to your specifications and the protected chambers!" "How many killed before you subdued them?" "I-I don't know. A lot. Thank goodness we'd had some disposables cleaning... they made for good fodder. I-" "Shut up. They won't be down long, and they've tasted too much... they will become more aggressive. You have two breems to evacuate this place. Anyone still in here will be added to a list of unfortunate fatalities in this rather... unexpected accident. Chopperburn will be held accountable, as a disgruntled worker and saboteur. I'll write this branch off and accept my losses. Understand?" "E-evacuate sir? You're going to... blow up the building?" "Tick. Tock." Those words could hardly ever had sound more menacing. Well, yes they could have. But nonetheless, the meaning is clear and the other mech makes a whimpering sound followed by the rush of footsteps as the mech races down the hallways, screaming for everyone to adhere evacuation protocols. The shadow against the wall remains there a moment, but then turns. Pauses. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand. The mech approaches the partially ajar door... There is one very tiny detail that the cleaning bots have for themselves. Sure, it's an open secret -- the supervisors installed the things, actually -- but it's not something the average Cybertronian would think that they had. To get the bigger jobs done -- like this one, actually -- every cleaning bot had access to a comm line. Just for them. At the word that the building was going to explode, the word is sent out; anyone who's still hiding, well... More closet doors are opening, now. And some faces come out from underneath desks and chairs and inside a couple of trashcans. The closet YX-939 is in with the three other bots is opened wider, too. The closet door opens wide, and reveals the blocky form of Detour, staring down at them through squinting blue optics. He regards the disposables with a slight sneer and then... something that almost looks like relief. He had heard a noise and thought perhaps one of his workers, one that would not hesitate to blow the proverbial whistle on him, was eavesdropping. And one that heard what he just said would invariably find themselves sealed in and blown to bits with the building. But it's only cleaners. Detour huffs and opens the door fully, standing aside. "Great. YX units. The type that don't know their place." This mech remembers them causing trouble in a bar. He doesn't know if these re the ones from that time and he doesn't care. "Get lost and not a peep about anything you might have heard. I'll know. And you know I can kill each and every one of you without repercussion of the law. NOW GIT!" He points to the way out which is finally unlocked. What a pleasant mech. To be fair, Detour is actually being far more polite than most of the supervisors and authoratative figures that they actually work with/are owned by. "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" YX-939 actually means it; all four cleaning bots give a quick salute before they move off. It's practically an exodus; so many cleaning bots all heading out at the same time. No arguing, no panic; an orderly escape. There's several injured cleaning bots being helped by their brethren. While some of the workers are trying to be orderly, the infectious panics of others as they flee the building make it difficult to accomplish. Detour considers his unusual compassion while he watches the cleaners depart. He himself turns and heads off to begin the countdown and ready the explosives. He could have locked the closet to make sure they could tell no one. They are disposable an their lives are meaningless. Whichever ones die can be replaced. However, being in trade also makes Detour aware of supply and demand. Resources for making even cleaning drones will become slimmer, so they may stop production and force hid already downtrodden peers into even more menial and gruelling work for even less pay and respect. So it is best to make resources last, and that even includes the worthless existences of slaves. Of disposables. Of mechs like YX-939. Curiously, as the surviving YX models pass by the corpses -- or what's left of them -- of their peers, the body parts are... picked up. Grabbed and held on to as they make their leave. A couple of parts just can't be taken, of course, but what they can get, they take. Which is odd, considering they can't fix each other up with the parts.